


The Dancer and the Doctor

by deutschtard



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Gen, I have no idea, M/M, Other, Stripper AU, Will is a Stripper, just go with it for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deutschtard/pseuds/deutschtard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is a stripper at a club in Baltimore. He has a mysterious Doctor who is secretly his favorite customer. The Doctor has an offer he's not sure he should refuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Job Offer

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot believe I wrote this, I don't even really ship Hannigraham. I don't. But this uh. Just sort of happened thanks to FREDDIE LOUNDS (I hate you). We got to talking randomly and this came up, then we put WAY TOO MUCH thought into it and my brain would't NOT let me write this.
> 
> I hope you're happy, Freddie, you jerk. <3
> 
> Songs used are "Maneater" by Nelly Furtado and "Teeth" by Lady Gaga.
> 
> Re - posting as chapters of a single work, instead of works in a series :)

_Everybody look at me, me_

_I walk in the door, you start screa-min_

_come on everybody what you here, for?_

_move your body around like a nym-pho_

  

    Maneater played as Will Graham gyrated his hips on stage, afraid to look anyone in the eye. There were subtle points he could look at that gave the right impression, though, made the customers feel like they were connecting with him. He knew it was almost ten o'clock, the time that the man who favored him most always came in, as though he had scheduled his time with him.

      Right as his song was in the final verse, in he stepped. In a three-piece suit and double Windsor knot, he would have looked for all the world as though he were a lost dignitary from a foreign land accidentally entering this dark place, if not for the almost predatory gaze he leveled at Will. His cheeks flushed under the hot lights as he hit his crescendo, arching his back and landing on his knees, chest and groin proffered to the audience. He was the man's favorite dancer, he knew as he watched him take the center seat, felt him eyeing him hungrily. 

      The song ended and Will made his way off stage, into the back so he could change into a different outfit. His stage show was themed—as they all were—around law enforcement. But private dances and walking the room were not as much of a show as stage performances, they were allowed a bit more of a relaxed dress code, and he wanted to put the gun holster on. It made Will feel safe, it hugged him like he could never let a person do, and even though there was no gun in the holster, he felt powerful. 

      He wandered the room—as was his job—for a moment before coming up to the man, the doctor. “Evening, Doctor,” he said, doing his best to appear like he wanted to be there, like he was excited to be talking to the man. In truth, he was, the Doctor was one of the only people who had seemed to understand his little idiosyncrasies, but social interaction of any form was difficult for him. Jack Crawford only kept him at the club because he was one of the most popular draws, and the Doctor always paid handsomely to assure he was the only one to get private dances.

      “Will,” he said, accent thick, with a smile that never quite reached his eyes, “you were very good tonight.”

      Will met his eyes for the smallest of seconds, “Thank you. Would you like me to dance for you tonight?”

      The smile met the Doctor's eyes for just a moment, truly making his eyes sparkle, and nodded, “I'd like that very much, Will.”

      The Doctor had reserved a private room for the duration of his attendance. If he was there, whoever was in the room was to be removed and the room cleaned. It housed an elegant couch, clothed in satin with velvet pillows, the low lights highlighting only Will as he began dancing.

 

_Tell me something that'll save me_

_I need a man who makes me alright_

_(Man who makes me alright)(Just tell me that it's alright)_

_Tell me something that'll change me_

_I'm gonna love you with my hands tied_

 

      Now, the rule was no touching, especially in private dances, but Will had an arrangement with the mysterious Doctor from a foreign land. Minimal touches to his waist, torso, and thighs were acceptable. As he straddled the Doctor's hips, he felt those hands, not rough and calloused as the men who used to pay for his dances, but soft, refined, they were something that the Doctor took great care of. He appreciated the touches, the way he rest his hands on Will's thighs as he wrapped his arms around the Doctor's neck, arching his back and getting as close as he dared.

      “Will,” the voice startled him. It had been almost a year since the Doctor had first started attending, and during their private dances, he almost never spoke. When he did, his words were always important.

      “Y-Yes, Doctor?” he said, hips still rocking against him, and he was always comforted by the fact that he did not feel any arousal pressing against him the way many had in the past.

      The Doctor looked up at him, eyes almost looking  _through_  him as it looked like he was contemplating something, “Why do you choose such a profession when you have such trouble interacting with other people?”

      He shrugged mid-dance, “Got to get through college. The dancing is the easy part....” he chuckled a little, “they all like the shy guy.”

      That made the Doctor chuckle, hands taking a bit firmer grasp on Will's thighs as he looked up at him. The man above him was graceful, elegant, and most certainly didn't belong at a club that labeled itself the “Federal Booty Investigation.” He saw much more in him, more potential than he would ever be able to realize in a place like this. They had had conversations over dancing before, though they were few and far between, as he preferred to simply watch Will lose himself in his lap. Something he had always wondered was what this man would look like in a full three-piece suit, or more clothing than he was allowed to wear in this establishment. He regained his composure, hesitating a moment before asking, “Would you ever consider being a full-time private dancer?”

      Will stopped his dance and looked down at him, still straddling him in a bit of shock, “I...I don't—that is, I don't, um,”

      The Doctor smiled, closing his eyes and looking down a moment, “It was only a suggestion, Will. I've got enough money to pay for whatever bills you should need covered during your degree,” his eyes refocused, hawk like, predatory and strong.

      His breathing had begun getting rapid, eyes darting for anywhere to look, not even the usual places, like the center of his forehead, were safe right now. Will backed off of him and hugged one of his arms a bit, “I uh, I don't know if Crawford would like you taking one of his best dancers...” 

      The Doctor's head cocked, his lips curling into a smirk, “I think that with the money I would be offering, he could find five dancers to replace you.”

      Will's head shook, “Doctor I don't know, I-I don't want to....”

     “It's quite all right, as I said, only a suggestion. The offer will remain open, should you change your mind.” Their song had stopped, and the Doctor knew their time was up, “I won't keep you from your other duties, Will. Think about what I said,” he stood and though they were near the same height, Will felt him towering over him, his mere presence engulfing him like a tidal wave, but a warm one, it felt protective, it felt safe.

      He nodded, and the Doctor gently took his chin in his hand, cocking his head to the side as he smiled, “Enjoy your evening, Will. Until Tuesday.”

      Will stood in their private room for a full three minutes before he was able to regain enough of himself to finish his shift.

      When the club closed, he sat at the bar and sighed, “Whisky. Please give me some whisky.”

      Alana, the bartender, turned around from the sink and gave him a bit of a smile, “With or without an E?”

      “Without.” The glass was warm in his hand, straight out of the water in the sink, “Thanks.”

      She leaned on the bar and pretended to clean a bit of it. They were closed on Mondays, and tonight was Sunday, she could afford to stay a bit late to catch up with her friend, “Rough night? Did someone harass you? I swear, Will, you've got to go tell Margot when--”

      “No,” he said, looking at the liquid before downing it, giving the glass to Alana who silently refilled it, listening, “No one harassed me. I uh, I think I got a job offer?”

      Alana quirked her head, “From your doctor?”

      “He's not  _my_ doctor,” he said, a bit snappier than he intended, “Sorry,” what exactly the man was to him, other than a repeat customer, was still obscured in darkness, “I don't, he asked me if I'd ever considered being a private dancer. I think he wanted to, well, buy me for lack of a better term.”

      He frowned when Alana burst out laughing, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh, but Will, you can't be serious. He's...you can't say yes to that. You're not a  _slave_ ,”

      “I know, I uh—I don't think I would be. I think he just sort of...wants me to dance for him at home. He said he'd offer Crawford a lot of money for me and pay me better than I get here....”

     “Will, come on,” she said, “what do you actually know about this guy? If you say yes, he could let you into his home and then rape you or kill you—or worse.”

      Will snorted, “What's worse than killing me?”

      “I can think of a lot of things,” she said, somberly, “but that's not the point. The point is you don't  _know_  him. You can't honestly be considering it,” she eyed him, warily filling up his glass a third time, “This is your last one, you know, I don't want you to leave your car here anymore, not after it got broken into again.”

      Nodding, he sipped the last two fingers of whisky slowly, “Third time this year, don't know what they want in such an old car,” but he didn't tarry on that line of thought for long, it was more about the fact that they  _could_  break in than what they actually took—the last two times, they hadn't taken anything. “I don't know, Alana. I...” he hesitated, “it would be nice to not have to deal with all the people here all the time, you know I'm not exactly the poster child for extroversion.”

      “Well, no, but this isn't safe.”

      “I know,” he sighed, “I...maybe I should meet him outside of the club—in a public place,” he quickly added, “maybe try to uh, y'know, talk to him about himself, see what exactly he wants out of me.”

      She shook her head, leaning her elbow on the bar, “You want me to go with you, private-like, I'll hide in the corner of the coffee shop and make sure he isn't going to take you to his house and dismember you or something.”

      “Maybe. I don't know what I'm going to do yet. I'll figure something out, though,” he said, smiling as he finished the last bit of his drink, “You're always the best listener.”

      “That's what I'm here for. Hell, maybe I should go back to school, get a degree in psychiatry, I do enough of it behind a bar, after all,” she took the glass from him, and Will, now in his jeans and plaid button-up shirt, shuffled back to the room to sit and sober up a bit in silence before going to the parking lot.

      Across the street, he spotted a black car, it looked expensive but he couldn't see the model from where he stood. It was too dark to see anyone inside, but it felt like someone was watching him. He wasn't stupid, he wasn't about to go and check it out. People who went and checked out mysterious cars in the dark ended up on the morning news as a body found dumped in the lake. Will went to his car, got in and turned it on, still watching the car as he pulled out and drove in the opposite direction from the car. Every few minutes, he checked behind him to make sure that car hadn't followed him. He lived in the middle of nowhere, if someone followed him to kill him or something, there would be no one to hear him screaming for help.

      The thoughts of terrifying possibilities would not leave his mind as he drove home, breaking out in a cold sweat that had soaked through his undershirt by the time he pulled into his driveway. Still on edge, he looked all around him for five minutes until he was sure no one had followed him. Will got out of the car and raced into the house, where his dogs were waiting impatiently. They hated living on the schedule he followed, he was never at home enough, and they missed their alpha.

      He let them all out to do their business, staying on the safety of his porch in the light as they ran and barked at each other, marking their territory yet again. Will smiled, though it faded as he thought of the Doctor's words again. 

      Would it really be so bad? Could he want something more out of him? In his time at the job, Will had had his fair share of creepy men offer him things, bring him gifts, wait for him outside after the club closed. But this man was different, this Doctor did none of those, he was not the type to make untoward advances, he was respectful. There was something about him that inherently trusted, although he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Despite the uncomfortable thread of paranoia that stitched his entire world together, he felt like perhaps taking this Doctor up on his offer wouldn't be too horrible of an idea.

      The dogs in and fed for the night, Will curled up in his bed, knees close to his chest as he heard the Doctor's voice permeate even his dreams, “Think about what I said,” he repeated, sighing.

      “Until Tuesday, Doctor,” he whispered to himself, wrapping an arm around the dog who inevitably ended up in his bed as he drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chance Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Will is thinking about maybe taking Alana's advice and meeting the Doctor in a public place, the choice is taken away from him as he, quite literally, runs into him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe I'm STILL writing this. It's still got a ways to go, too. Like. Honestly, I have a lot plotted out for this. Mystery, intrigue, murder, even! (Don't worry Will's not going to die that I know of.)
> 
> Songs used: "Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga and "Bring me to Life" by Evanescence.

  Will didn't have class Mondays, he probably wouldn't have gone anyway, there was too much to think about. The Doctor's offer was really good. Too good, really. Alana was at least partially right, for what the Doctor was asking, there had to be some sort of hitch. There was no way he was just asking him to be a private dancer at the expense of paying for his college bills. That was...it left a pit in his stomach to think about.

      The sun was up, the dogs needed to be walked and fed, and Will needed some food. Of course, he hadn't gotten himself anything on the way home last night, and the only thing in the fridge was some mustard and a cheap bottle of wine his friend had given him on his birthday last year. "Great," he said to himself, watching the dogs as they happily ate their bowls of food.

      After a few more minutes of searching the cupboards, Will got dressed and drove into town. Instead of grocery shopping, he stopped at a coffee shop near the U district, they always had great paninis. It wasn't cold, but Will had on a green army jacket, hands shoved in his pockets as he huddled into the line. He was so focused on giving his order, he didn't see the man queue up behind him. Will never looked at the people who stood in line, that was too much interaction.

      He didn't see the man stand close enough to him that he almost knocked him over after paying. "Oh, crap! I'm sorry, I --"

      The Doctor was staring at him with a smile, "It's quite all right, Will," he straightened his dark pinstriped jacket and carefully kept his hands away from Will, not wanting to frighten him.

     "D-Doctor," he said, eyes darting around. He shouldn't be so anxious, but Alana wasn't here, no one he really knew was here, and all he could think about was the fact that this man could want to take him home and kill him. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. I just...what are you doing here?"

     "Getting coffee," he said, "go, sit. We'll talk after I've ordered."

      Will did as he was told, curling his arms around himself protectively, making sure his back was to the wall so no one could sneak up on him. He chose a table in view of the counter so as many people could see him and the doctor as possible, disallowing for any spontaneous kidnapping ideas the Doctor might be harboring.

      He jumped when the Doctor sat down, not having seen him walk up. He was too deep within his own head, listening to the possible scenarios and outcomes of this meeting. This felt too strange to be coincidence. "So," Will chanced, paranoia giving way to tactlessness, "Are you following me, Doctor?"

      The Doctor's eyebrow raised as he threaded his fingers together, "No, Will, I'm not following you. My office ian't too far out of the way, and I often stop here before opening for the morning," he cocked his head, "Why would I have been following you?"

     "Well," Will was suddenly even more self-conscious, second-guessing every word, "I, ah, I guess it's stupid, I'm sorry."

     "If you felt in earnest that I was following you, it was not stupid. Are you worried about the strings attached to my offer?"

      Will nodded a bit, thanking the waiter who came with his food and their coffee, "I just...it seems too good to be true. I don't know anything about you, either. I mean, I know you're a doctor. I don't even know your first name..." he trailed off, taking a bite of the sandwich before his stomach began to eat itself.

      The Doctor sipped his coffee, "Hannibal," he said simply, tongue flitting out to lick his lower lip, "I did not think that, at the club, you would want to know more than what to call me. My name is Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

     "Dr. Hannibal Lecter," Will repeated softly, testing it out on his tongue, the angles of the name feeling foreign, but comforting, "Hannibal." The annoying pop music on the radio in the cafe was drowning out the other people talking, it felt like it was only he and the doctor there, his body still on alert, ready to defend himself if necessary. "Why do you, eh," he swallowed, not wanting to talk with his mouth full, "why do you want me to be your private dancer so badly? I'm not worth that much money."

      The look on Dr. Lecter's face was almost disappointed, "Will," he said, quietly, "you mustn't think so little of yourself."

     "But...I'm just a dancer. I'm not even that good. I'm nothing special," he said, shoving more sandwich in his mouth.

     "You are much more than 'just a dancer', Will."

      He snorted, "How do you know? You don't even know me outside of the club."

     "I know that you don't have ties to any family to speak of, and that you own dogs. You care for them, despite your hectic schedule. You like privacy, which is why you chose to live outside of the city."

      Will's eyes widened over his coffee, wary "If you're trying to make me trust you more, you've just done the opposite. How do you know that." It wasn't phrased as a question, and Will scooted back against the wall even further.

      The Doctor's eyes fell, "My apologies. Your jacket, it's covered in dog fur," he said, "you smell of the countryside. I have a very sensitive sense of smell. I did not mean to alarm you," he leaned back and relaxed to allow Will to think he was in control of this conversation.

      He didn't move for a moment, except to look at his jacket. Alana could be right, he could have a stalker, this guy could want to do horrible things to him. Or he could be telling the truth. His jacket  _was_  covered in fur. He'd have to keep it somewhere where Winston couldn't pull it off the hook and sleep on it. "I-I'm sorry. Just...you've got to be careful when you work where I do. People who come into the club..." Will hesitated, "there've been rapes."

      Dr. Lecter's eyes focused on Will intently, "I realize that you don't trust me at this juncture in our...relationship, Will," he said, face somber, "but I would never dream of taking advantage of you like that."

      They both sat in silence for a few minutes, Will finishing his sandwich, the Doctor letting him. Will took a deep breath and stared at the crumbs on his plate, counting them (there were 72) and dividing the number by different integers to center himself. "Say I agree to your offer," he said, finally, not looking up, "I'm not going to drop everything to work for you."

     "I'm aware. I didn't expect you to," he responded.

     "I could work for you once a week, trial basis."

      The Doctor smiled, just for the barest of moments, "How does those words feel, Will? 'Work for me?' cheap and bitter, hm?" he said, tilting his head as he always did, "I wouldn't be in charge of you. You would have a freedom to choose what you did or did not do. My only requirement is that you would dance in my home for me, and only me. Whatever you did not feel comfortable with, I would not force upon you."

      Will hesitated, chancing a look in Dr. Lecter's eyes, which were warm, he had to fight the urge to let himself stare for too long, "Okay. Once a week. I don't stop working at FBI, and," he paused, "and the first week or two, we meet at a hotel. I don't feel comfortable going to your house alone yet."

      His smile widened as he leaned in, just a bit, "That's fine, Will. I understand. What days don't you work? Other than today," he said, letting his smile fade.

     "I, uh. Today and Wednesday."

       The Doctor nodded, "Wednesday would be all right with me. I'll book a room at the Royal Sonesta, in the harbor. Is that all right?"

       Will's eyes got wide, but he gave only a hesitant nod in response, watching Dr. Lecter's hands as he idly fiddled with the stirrer on his plate, moving the crumbs around.

       The Doctor stood up, pinstripes straightening, the cut of his suit and the countenance he held making him look eight feet tall, "Thank you, Will. I'll see you tomorrow night at the club. Save a dance for me," he said with a smirk. He was gone before Will could respond.

      Having organized the crumbs into a neat pile, he looked down and held his breath. "Shit," he said, letting out a puff of air, crumbs scattering all over.

 

*  *  *  *

     "You can't be fucking serious.  _Will_ , what is wrong with you?" Alana's voice sounded enraged on the phone as he still sat in the coffee shop. He could hear her grabbing her keys in the background and slamming the door, "Stay there. Stay there I'm coming."

     "Alana, I'm fine I don--"

     "No, shut up. Dammit. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

      Will stared at his phone and sighed, opening his notebook to write as he waited for his irate friend to show up.

     Before too long, Will hadn't been counting, there she was, rushing in with a wind of exasperation, the tenseness affecting the entire room. "Will tell me everything that happened," she said, checking him over as though she feared the Doctor had drugged him secretly.

    "Alana.  _Alana_ , calm down. You're worrying the customers," he said, pointing with his chin at the pairs of eyes on them both.

      She stopped, folding her arms and leaning back in the chair, "Fine. But explain."

      Will shrugged, "I don't know...He was just  _here_ , and--"

     "He followed you, I--"

     "No," he interrupted her interruption, "That was the first thing I asked. His office isn't far from here. He stops here a lot."

      Alana frowned, "How do you know that?"

      The cell phone was all but shoved into her face, the yellow pages app pulled up. In big letters, it read "DR. HANNIBAL LECTER, 687 Bayshore ave, Suite 200, Baltimore, MD, 21161."

     "Okay. Fine. His office is close. What a weird name."

     "He's foreign. I think he's Russian maybe."

     "That...isn't a Russian name, Lecterov maybe," she said, letting out a snort.

      Will laughed, "You're just trying to find something wrong with him now."

     "Will, this whole thing skeezes me out. I'm allowed to try to make him sound like a horrible person in order to keep my friend from ending up on the front page as a missing person," she reached out and took Will's hand, and he only flinched minimally.

     "I know, I know. I get it," he paused, "are you gonna let me explain everything else, then?" he gave her hand a squeeze, "Order a coffee, I have a feeling you need one."

 

*  *  *  *

_I want your horror, I want your design_

_'Cause you're a criminal as long as you're mine_

_I want your love_

_Love, love, love, I want your love_

 

      Dr. Lecter had showed up before Will had gone on stage Tuesday night, taking the seat right at center stage as he danced. Even though the seats were filled, Will felt like this was already a private dance, the rest of the world melted away and his vision tunneled until all he could see was the Doctor sitting there, the faintest smile as he worked the pole, twirling around like a perverse version of an athlete, muscles flexing, sweat beading on his forehead.

      His dance came to a crescendo, and his final move was a slow twirl on the pole, ending in the splits. Will panted a bit, much more tired than he had been the last time he was on stage, this dance much more complex and physically demanding.

      As he stood and walked off stage, Will saw Dr. Lecter walking back to the private dance room. He nodded at the man before going behind the curtain. As he walked the room, Will didn't interact, he kept to the sides of the room, not wanting to keep the Doctor waiting. Alana gave him a pointed look from the bar, and he held his hands out, hopefully pacifying her.

     "Good evening, Will," Dr. Lecter said, sitting on the couch. He'd taken his jacket off, matching waistcoat cutting an impressive figure against the dark fabric of he couch.

     "Dr. Lecter," he said, a small smile, "I-I'm sorry if I'm a little sweaty tonight..."

      The Doctor held up his hand, silencing Will, "Your dance tonight was strenuous, I would be surprised if you hadn't sweat."

     "I tried to clean myself up a bit...but I didn't shower, I didn't want to keep you waiting."

      He smiled, "I would have waited."

 

_How can you see into my eyes like open doors_

_Leading you down into my core_

_where I've become so numb, without a soul_

_My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold_

_Until you find it there and lead it back home_

 

       The song started, and Will smiled back as he closed his eyes and let the music wash over him before beginning his dance for the Doctor, his hands on his torso sending a shiver through his body that he tried to ignore.

     "Thank you, Will," he said, letting him dance, "for the trial basis. You did not have to say yes."

      Will looked down at him, back arching towards him, "I didn't have enough reason to say no," he got a bit of a wicked smirk on his face for just a second as he danced, having just gotten an idea, "I'm going to order room service before I dance. We'll have dinner together," he said, still not looking the Doctor in the eyes.

      Dr. Lecter's lips curled into a grin, "I'm looking forward to it."

     Will didn't say it out loud, but, despite the fear still gripping him about tomorrow night, he was looking forward to it, too.


	3. The Royal Sonesta Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will heads down to the harbor, as they'd agreed, for the first night of this "trial basis." Things don't go *quite* as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, I have inspiration for this fic again. I'm sorry it's been so long! But I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Songs used are "When I Grow Up" by the Pussycat Dolls and "I'm a Slave 4 U" by Britney Spears
> 
> I hope to actually be able to get back to this after the holidays, I apologize for there being so long in between chapters!

_Boys call you sexy_

_and you don't care what they say_

_see every time you turn around_

_they screaming your name_

_now I've got a confession_

_when I was young I wanted attention_

_and I promised myself that I'd do anything_

_anything at all for them to notice me_

     

      The song pounded in his ears as he took the bus down to the harbor, and the Royal Sonesta loomed down the street. Even though Will couldn't see it, he knew it was there, like it was calling to him, it had an aura that radiated from it, making it stand out while blending in perfectly--much like the man he was on his way to see. It was a large building, reminiscent of some sort of factory, now turned into one of the most luxurious hotels in the city.

      He'd tried to dress up a bit, because he'd heard rumors of there being a dress code to even get in the door, like those expensive restaurants who required a dinner jacket. His nicest outfit was a plaid shirt with a striped tie, tied with a four in hand, and a dark tweed jacket with the leather elbow patches. He didn't have dress slacks, just a pair of chinos, and he hoped they wouldn't turn him away.

      The concierge at the front desk sneered at the music that could be heard from the earbud that hung out of his ear down by his chest. Immediately, Will fumbled in his pocket for his iPod and turned it down. "I um, I'm looking for a guest."

      "Room number?" The man said, voice flat, bordering on angry.

      "I-I don't know," an annoyed sigh from the concierge had Will quickly scrambling to avoid a lecture, "His name is Dr. Hannibal Lecter, he...he should be expecting me."

      At mention of the name, the concierge typed it into the computer, and Will was thankful that he didn't have to look at him for a moment. "Ah, yes, he left instructions to let you up," the distaste in the man's voice was palpable, it nearly slapped Will, leaving a warm, sticky feeling on his cheek, which he rubbed at absentmindedly, "Room 624."

      "Do I need a room key or anything?"

      " _No_ ," the concierge snapped, "Have a good evening, and thank you for your visit," the words were enough that, if Will gave half a shit, he could have reported the man. But the manager probably wouldn't have listened to him, not in this clown suit. Heading towards the elevator, he turned his music back on to psyche himself up.

 

_I know I may come off quiet, I may come off shy_

_But I feel like talking, feel like dancing when I see this guy._

_What's practical is logical. What the hell, who cares?_

_All I know is I'm so happy when you're dancing there._

 

      He had to chuckle at the song playing in his ears right now, "Thanks," he mouthed to the music. Alone in the elevator, his hips moved to the beat, eyes closed as the floors went by much too quickly. His palms were sweating, so was he, as the song came to a close with him standing just outside the elevator. Will knew he needed to calm down, this wasn't going to be the night he died, he tried to make himself sure of that fact.

      This would be fine, it was a hotel, which wasn't exactly public, but Hannibal didn't seem like the the type to kill someone. Well, at least if he _was_  that sort of person, he wouldn't do it in a hotel. Something told Will he would consider that disrespectful. A choked laugh crawled up his throat as he wrapped the earbuds and shoved them in his pocket. "I'll be okay."

      He shot a quick text to Alana, "If you don't hear from me by 10am tomorrow, call the police. Love you - Will."

      As he started down the hallway towards the room, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

      "If you're dead tomorrow, I'll revive you to yell at you, then kill you again myself for being so dumb."

      At least he ended up at Dr. Lecter's door with a smile on his face. "Nothing to it, right? It'll be fine." His shaky hand raised to knock, but he heard movement in the room, and on the second rap of his knuckles, the door opened.

      Dr. Lecter didn't look any different. His suit was bright this time, a pale blue with a yellow tie, matte paisley against a silky background. He found himself transfixed by the pattern, having to shake himself back into reality when he heard "Good evening, Will."

     "Dr. Lecter," he responded, swallowing audibly. 

      The doctor smiled, "You're anxious, that's normal. I understand. Please, come in. Let me do whatever I can to make you more comfortable here." 

      This wasn't a hotel room, it was an entire en suite. Will no longer doubted that Hannibal would be able to pay for his college expenses if he eventually agreed to this proposal. It was definitely more expensive a room than Will would probably ever be able to afford. He was a little mystified by the class that exuded from every corner of the room. Even though this wasn't Hannibal's home, it already felt like this entire place was  _his_. "I'm not...I'm not late, am I?"

     "No, Will," he said with a smile, "You're right on time."

      The fabrics were complex, Persian rugs, floral upholstered sofa and chairs, and  _chandeliers_. He knew he clashed with the room, and now he was _definitely_  feeling underdressed, not that he could have possibly dressed right for this place. "Christ," he huffed under his breath.

      Hannibal heard him. "Is there something wrong, Will?"

    "No, no," he hastily covered for himself, "This just...I've never really seen the inside of a place this nice."

      A reserved smile curled the doctor's lips, "I felt that, for our arrangement, the hotel evenings should take place in rooms more reminiscent of a home, and less of a large bedroom. After all, I am asking you to dance, you are not a prostitute."

Will's cheeks flushed and he cast his eyes down, which he knew let Hannibal stare at him. "Perhaps I will purchase you a proper dress shirt, Will, one that will go much better with that tie."

     "I um, I didn't," he hesitated, "I thought--"

     Hannibal interrupted, a hand on his shoulder, "You're fine. I'm trying to offer a gift, you would look nice in a crisp blue shirt. It would bring out your eyes,"

     That didn't really help Will feel any less uncomfortable right now, "Th-thank you...I ah, I'm sorry I'm underdressed."

     "I don't care what you're wearing right now, Will," the pregnant pause felt like it was crushing him, forcing him to sit down in the chair right behind him. Hannibal let him, smiling, "Do you still want to order room service?"

     His eyes snapped up to meet the doctor's, maroon--which always struck him as odd--and he gulped, "Yeah, yes, i-if you don't mind."

     "If I minded, I would not suggest it." He had a point, Will reasoned, as he was handed the menu, "Order whatever you like."

     "Are you sure? I mean, some of this stuff is," he balked, triple digits screaming up at him in bold letters that he was out of his league, " _really_ expensive."

      Another smirk crossed Hannibal's lips, "I'm quite sure. Whatever catches your eye. Next week, if you would rather I not spend so much money, I could cook for you."

      His cheeks must have been vermilion by now, "You can cook? I...I guess that would be okay, as long as you don't poison it," Will couldn't seem to stop the words before they were already out there, "not that I think you would, but--"

      "I know," another interruption, another smile, "I'll bring a hotplate and cook in front of you, if you'd feel more comfortable with that."

      All Will could hear was Alana's voice in his ear, warning him about this, that and the other, that Hannibal was a dangerous man he should stay away from. He couldn't listen to her, though, because he had always been good at reading people well, and he didn't get that from him at all. He seemed genuine, like this was honestly something he wanted, and was willing to do.

      "Okay,"

 

*   *   *   *

      The filet mignon medallions were so tender they nearly melted in his mouth, and he couldn't help the little moan that had escaped his lips at the first bite. Now, utterly full, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to do any dancing with his stomach so stuffed.

      "Did you enjoy your meal?"

      "I really did, I don't think I've, um, ever had anything that good." Will conceded, which made Hannibal smile. Even though they were in a suite, not in his own home, he cleaned up the dishes, washing them in the sink.

      "Come, dry with me."

      Will did as he was told, picking up a towel and drying the dishes carefully. They didn't speak, and it was nice. It felt normal. As strange a situation he was in right now, this felt safe, like he was supposed to be here, and the little Alana who had been warning him throughout the night to be careful seemed much quieter in his mind. They stacked the dishes on the counter in silence.

      Hannibal reached over him to put a cup down, "Apologies," and suddenly they were close, too close, their chests were basically touching, and Will couldn't close his mouth or regulate his breathing. "Will, are you all right?"

      "I-I'm fine..." he breathed, hesitantly putting a hand on Hannibal's chest. The man didn't move away, and Will could feel his heart beating under his palm, it was calm and steady, a slow moving river compared to the rushing rapids of Will's own heart.

      "Will," his voice was different now, somehow, darker, but it wasn't lust. Will had heard lust on many people, ones with sticky fingers and sweaty, disgusting auras. But Hannibal's voice...he couldn't put a finger on it, but he had to look him in the eye, see if he could read something, glean anything that would explain.

There was a hunger there, it almost frightened him, "Will," he said again, this time it was softer, still full of that darkness, but smoothed over somehow, and before Will could formulate a sentence, his face was impossibly close, "Would you like me to kiss you?" Will couldn't even say no, head nodding dumbly before he even thought about it.

      He could still taste wine on Hannibal's lips as he cautiously returned the kiss. It was too easy to lose himself in it, but the hand on the side of his neck, thumb on his cheek sent a jolt through his body that woke him up in a most unpleasant way, and he jumped back, back pressed against the far wall. "I-I can't, I--"

      "No, Will, I'm sorry. That was... too much. I overstepped my boundaries, and I misread signals," an obvious lie, even Will knew that, "I jumped to conclusions, and it will not happen again."

      "I have to go, I've--I've got to go," he was already grabbing his satchel from the floor and heading for the door. Even though all he wanted to do was run away now, he found it strange that Hannibal wasn't following him, which almost made him stay.

     "Very well." was all he said.

      He was out the door and down the street in the cool night air before he could realize what he was doing, pausing to gulp the frosty air into his lungs. "Shit, shit  _shit,_ you're so  _stupid_!" he cursed himself, smacking the heel of his palm against his forehead, "Why couldn't I say no?"

 

*     *     *     *

      Alana was in a robe, obviously tired, but her eyes burned with a clarity, "I told you he was bad news, get in here," she said, arms open wide as Will collapsed into her arms. "What happened?"

      " _Nothing_ , that's just... I let him kiss me and then..."

      She wasn't sure where Will was going with this, closing the door with her leg as she held him close in the foyer, hand stroking his hair, quietly shushing him. "It's okay."

      "No, he-- his hand. On my neck and I just ran out of there, and I'm so  _stupid_ , Alana,"

      "No," her voice was authoritative, "Will you are not stupid for not being able to handle that. After what you went through, I'm surprised you didn't punch him."

      That got Will chuckling through his shaky breaths, calming down. They stood there in silence for a while as the clock ticked, the metronome cadence centering him, "I'd really like some tea."

      "I'll have to charge you extra, slick,"

      Another chuckle, "Sure."

      Chamomile felt nice in his stomach, calmed his frazzled nerves as he told her about the whole evening while she rubbed small, gentle circles on his back. She offered her couch for the night, and he took her up on it. He'd left enough food and water out for his dogs, and the heat was on, he could stop by in the morning, he didn't have classes until after noon.

     "You'll be okay, Will. It's fine, I promise, you did the right thing."

     "I just. I can't help feeling like I walked out on the best opportunity of my life. Like I left something important back there, and I won't be able to get it again."

      Alana let out a slow sigh and pulled him into her chest, "Will I'm not psychic or anything, but I can tell you that whatever you walked out on there, it wasn't the best opportunity of your life. You're going to find something much better."

      Will looked up at her, brushing her hair out of her face, "How do you know?"

     "Because, dumbass, I know."

    "Oh, all right, I'll just believe you then," he said, sarcasm dripping.

     "You'd better. If you don't believe me, you don't get my couch," she shoved him playfully as she stood up, "I'll go get you some PJs."

 

 

*    *     *     *

      Hannibal didn't show up Thursday. Or Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. Will began to feel like he'd been right about being wrong for rushing out like that. In over a year, Hannibal had never missed a dance, and he'd now missed an entire week's worth.

      His dancing began to suffer by Saturday, and Crawford noticed, calling him into his office Sunday afternoon to have a talk with him.

      Will sat there quietly as he was lectured, tracing the lines of wood grain on Crawford's desk with his eyes, trying to make shapes out of them. He wasn't listening to Jack, he knew the man was right, whatever he was saying.

     "I said, what do you have to say for yourself?" the man snapped, breaking Will's concentration.

     Without thinking, he responded, "Do you have Doctor Lecter's phone number?" 

 

 

*    *    *    *

      The phone felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, he dialed half of the number ten or fifteen times before finally making it all the way through all seven digits.

     "Good afternoon,"

     "Doctor Lecter, I--"

     "I am currently unavailable, please leave your name, number, and a short message after the tone. I will return your call at my earliest convenience."

     Will's heart sank, and he nearly hung up for a moment, "D-Doctor Lecter, it's...It's me. I mean, It's Will, Will Graham, from FBI? I um. You haven't been in, and I was just..." but he clammed up, "This was stupid. I'm sorry for bothering you."

      Dammit. Something was wrong with this whole situation, but he knew, logically, he had to talk to Hannibal about this. Crawford was about ready to make him take some forced time off, and he couldn't afford that. He had to sort this out.

     The phone's vibration nearly made him drop it, and he recognized the number as the one he'd just dialed. He couldn't answer it, he  _couldn't._ All he could do was stare at it until it vibrated again, chiming that he had a voice mail.

      After what felt like an hour of arguing with himself, he called his inbox.

      "Will," the voice was unmistakable, "I felt that, after the incident Wednesday evening, you would rather not see me at the club. I thought it beneficial to let you have time to think the situation over yourself. If you would like to talk, please return my call. I would be happy to let Alana sit in and mediate, if it would make you more comfortable. I do hope to hear from you soon."

      He stared at the phone for a minute, two minutes.

     "Will?" Alana's voice startled him.

     "Sorry, I..."

     "What are you going to do?" She didn't even need to be told who he'd called, what they'd said.

      Will swallowed his fear, looking her directly between the eyes, "I'll call him tomorrow." He was pleasantly surprised that she nodded at him and left, no judgement, no warnings. She trusted him, even if she didn't trust Dr. Lecter.

      Will only hoped he could trust himself.


End file.
